Page 117 of Into the Dark, We Go
Without waiting for a response, I stood and walked to the bathroom, needing to be anywhere else. Her question cracked something open inside me, and I didn’t want to feel it.
In the bathroom mirror, I faced a pale ghost of myself. My skin had a sickly green cast, as if something had burrowed in and worn me like a body bag. Freckles blurred. Lips almost white. My eyes were rimmed in red, heavy with deep, hollowed shadows. Purple and yellow blotches ravaged my cheeks, crawled down my arms, and marked my ribs.
I wasn’t just tired. I was unraveling, piece by piece.
The front door banged shut, and muffled voices drifted through the thin bathroom door. Mitch, who had gone out to get food, was back. I splashed cold water on my face, stepped out without looking at anyone, and went straight to the bed, curling up with my back to the room.
All I could do was wait. The seconds dragged by in nervous tension. The quiet from the other room was a muted siren’s song, tempting my thoughts to dark places. I wanted to barge in, to ask if Nick had found anything, if there was any chance at all. But I knew better. So, I let him work in peace.
The curtains were drawn tight, letting only a sliver of daylight creep through. None of us knew what to do, so we pretended to stay busy. Now, June was in the bathroom, messing with something, the sound of water running on and off faint in the background.
I mindlessly opened my laptop without a clear purpose in mind, then closed it, and opened it again. I logged into Facebook and scrolled down the feed full of meaningless updates. Weddings, kids, dog pictures. Each post felt like it belonged to another world, one that had nothing to do with mine. All these people had no idea what was really going on, trapped in their little bubbles of normalcy. But then again, neither did I. Maybe that’s all anyone ever saw—the glitz and glitter of each other’s lives.
I pulled up Sarah’s profile, my fingers moving on their own. I started typing, but the words weren’t right. It wasn’t an apology.It was a "Fuck you" message for being a terrible friend. For living the life I couldn’t. For her ignorance, for gossiping behind my back. I needed her to know, even if it was the last thing I ever did. What did I have to lose?
I stared at the message, a messy jumble of anger and frustration, then deleted it. It was childish and pointless. A way to vent emotions that wouldn’t change a damn thing.
Then I thought about the Facebook group Amanda and the other woman were in. I searched for it, but came up empty. I double-checked the spelling and searched again. Nothing. The group had gone. I checked my pending group requests, hoping for a clue. Nothing.
I turned to Mitch. "It’s gone," I said, disbelief creeping in.
"What’s gone?" He looked confused.
"The Facebook group."
Mitch’s face dropped. "I know," he said, keeping his voice down. "I noticed it a few days back when I checked Amanda’s page. I’m sorry I snapped at you about it. It’s been bothering me, thinking I should have checked it sooner."
I muttered, "It’s okay. You were right to snap at me."
His eyes drop to the floor. "It’s not just that. There’s a message history with a deleted profile. I could only see Amanda’s side of the conversation. They were discussing what had happened to her. She contacted them a few times, but then the messages just stopped. About a month before she visited Black Water."
"What does it mean?"
"You were right. They’re finding people online, luring them in somehow. Maybe broken people, like—" He trailed off.
I agreed with him. He should have checked on it earlier. He should have told me about it. And though I knew it probably wouldn’t have changed anything, irritation still flickered to life in my chest. He sat there, slouched, his usual military postureand composure gone. I wanted to lash out, say something to make him feel worse, but what good would it do? We were both in the dark, fumbling around.
I closed my laptop with intentional slowness, picked it up and threw it against the wall. The sound of cracking plastic and metal choked the room.
Mitch stayed where he was, his face unreadable.
"What happened?" June burst out of the bathroom, startled by the noise.
I got up and left the room.
Nick saton the faded rug, his back hunched, papers and notes scattered around him like a chaotic map of some foreign world. His focus was so intense that it felt like the room could fall away, and he wouldn’t even notice.
I set the paper bag on the table. "You must be hungry."
"Hm?" He looked up, blinking slowly as if he were just waking from a long sleep. "Thanks."
I watched him for a few seconds, his eyes already back on the page.
"How’s it going?"
"I’m not sure." He ran a hand through his hair, wary of the symbols. "It’s like… the book gives you ingredients. We just have to figure out the recipe. It’s not nonsense, but it feels like it. It’s a language, maybe a cipher. I see things repeating." He pointed to a spot on the page, his finger hovering over the ink as if afraid it might disappear. "Here, and here—the same symbol. And this one?—"
I tried not to let frustration creep into my voice, but it still found its way. "So nothing specific?" I leaned against the table. Even if every piece of the puzzle was right in front of him, it would have been like trying to learn Hiragana in a single sitting.
